


Buddy

by SkyWrites



Category: LISA (Video Games)
Genre: Childhood, Family, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 15:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10834197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyWrites/pseuds/SkyWrites
Summary: Before the kidnapping, before the fighting, Buddy lived with her father and her uncles.Before they knew it, little Buddy grew up into a Big Girl.





	Buddy

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by (but not necessarily based on) CourierNew’s [Cheer Up.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9836549/chapters/22079735)
> 
> Written by Sky.

It shot through her skull like a rifle’s slug, pierced her brain. “ **Buddy!** ”

Her chest constricted as if wounded. She couldn’t feel her legs. She forgot how to use them. Brad lumbered forward, sprinting like a creature from her darkest nightmares. She had never seen him run, never heard him shout. Not even during training sessions.

Dry wind had burned her young, fragile skin, but the hot pain soothed her compared to the usual musty air she breathed day in and day out. She had looked out over the twisted cliffs of Olathe, witnessed the jagged disgusting lands, muted of bright color, the sky awash with a weak yellow glare, and wished she could explore it all for herself.

Brad grabbed her before she could even blink, his breath heavy and moist. “What are you doing?!” he shouted. His voice was desperate, as if Buddy would vanish before him in a puff of smoke.

Her throat locked up. Brad’s dark eyes stared into hers, angry. So angry. So afraid. Buddy wanted to scream, “I’m leaving! I’m leaving and you can’t stop me!”

But the words couldn’t come out.

Somehow, Brad knew. The defiance. His eyes grew darker still. The anger and fear vanished. He placed his rough hands around her body, and she felt he could crush her in an instant. Buddy didn’t struggle.

The sun over her head blinked out, replaced by the familiar dusk of her prison. Brad placed her down on her bed, his muscles still pulsating with adrenaline and power. He didn’t look at her. Buddy wasn’t sure why. Without a word, Brad climbed out of her room, slammed the floorboard shut, and with a _clink_ , locked it tight.

Still she stared. Her body remained still. Brad’s shout rattled through her mind, the moment replaying in her head over and over. Until she heard the yelling above.

“Was anyone else watching her?!”

“…sorry, Brad.”

Finally, she could move again. Everything smashed into her at once. Her eyes began to water, her nose dribbled, and her body heaved. She had no control over herself. No control over anything. She cried. She didn’t want to, but she cried. She told herself she wouldn’t cry anymore.

The walls of her room pressed against her chest and squeezed her throat. It grew smaller every day. The memories of her training replayed over and over. Stale rusty air filled her lungs once more, and she was left with darkness once again. It spoke her name, it held her legs, it demanded her attention. She couldn’t hide, even in her blankets, the darkness followed there as well.

“ ** _Buddy_**!” it screamed desperately, drowning out her sobs.

* * *

Sticky laid sprawled out over the cracked wooden floorboards. His skin nearly meshed together with the ground, bleached by the unending sun. What little greasy hair he had left, he let grow. He was almost bald, like Brad, except for one little patch of hair. One inch of his scalp that refused to give up, hoping maybe one day, little hairy brothers might join him. Sticky was proud of his hair, even if he never groomed it. Buddy could tell.

Brad gave up on his hair. Even Buddy could remember it for a time. But like a flash, it was gone, like it had never been there. Brad didn’t seem to care.

“Doin’ okay, Buddy?” Sticky asked for the fifteenth time now, not even looking her way. He stared outside, lost in thought, fiddling with the fabric of his clothes, fingers running over the smoothness in an almost rhythmic fashion. Buddy witnessed this more times than she could count, but when she asked Uncle Sticky about it, he just responded, “Whaddya mean, kiddo?”

“I’m fine,” Buddy replied, looking over her flower drawings with distaste. The door behind Sticky streamed hot sunlight through, highlighting the sandy dust that permeated the air. She could feel the sun’s burning glare on her again, see the twisted skies and disgusting mountains of Olathe. It was right in her reach. She could easily outmaneuver Sticky and escape this humid little hole.

“ ** _Buddy_!** ” the voice screamed in her ears again, the memory still fresh. Again, she lost control of her body, lost control of everything, as if it never belonged to her in the first place. The melted crayon slipped out of her hands and attempted to roll across the boards, but its mutilated, worthless body only left it writhing in place.

A sob scraped out of her dry throat.

Sticky stopped fiddling with his rags and slowly scooted over to her. “Buddy, hey, what’s wrong?” He moved closer. Closer still. Buddy couldn’t even flinch, locked in place. He sat close, against the wall. He didn’t come any closer. His fingers twitched, as if he thought to maybe pat her on the head, but his mind decided otherwise. He never got too close to Buddy, always appearing uncomfortable.

She didn’t even know what was wrong. Again, she felt lost, out of control. Words spilled out of her mouth, feeling not quite like her own. “Does Dad…” _Don’t call me that._ “Does Brad hate me?”

Sticky’s beady eyes widened. For a second, he remembered something, fingers clutching at his raggedy shirt. He looked back at her, shaking his head with a sigh. “No, he doesn’t hate you. You know that.”

“I don’t know anything!” A shrill voice screamed out. Surprised, Buddy found it was her own.  

The man frowned. Sticky appeared to have trouble finding the words to speak quite often, especially when Buddy was near. Again, he fingered his rags in thought. “He doesn’t hate you,” Sticky repeated, sternly.

“How do you know?” Buddy said through sobs, her vision a blur. “You don’t even know you keep messing with your shirt!”

Sticky looked at his hands suddenly, and with shame. He put them down against the coarse wooden floorboards, but they twitched and skittered like spiders. “Guess I do,” he said. “But that doesn’t matter. I know Brad.” He nodded, eyes lost in a world long gone that Buddy could never see. “Know him better than he thinks. He doesn’t hate you.”

She noticed Sticky never quite said ‘He loves you’ though.

“He needs you, Buddy.”

“Why?”

His fingers had already gone back to stroking his rags again, fiddling with a loose thread. “It wouldn’t do any good to tell you. Not my place.”

Still this voice raged. The answers weren’t good enough, none of this helped her. “I want to leave! I hate it here!”

Again, she heard that booming voice shatter her ear drums, take control over her body. “ ** _Buddy_!** ”

Sticky grunted. “Sorry, Buddy. I know. This is no place for you.”

“Then let me leave!”

Brad screamed over and over at her now, clutching her desperately, ripping her flesh, tears in his eyes.

Sticky’s chapped lips formed a line. He pulled a thread loose from the fabric. “…Maybe someday.”

* * *

Rick was always easiest to talk to.

Buddy stared out through the broken window in the top floor of their home. The dangerous glass shards shone with a jagged beauty against the sun’s endless glare. The sun never moved, but she was used to it. Buddy noted from her rug that the sun always hung in the top right corner of the window, and if she stared through the glass just right, she could see colorful rainbows.

Rick sat on his usual stool, beer bottle in hand. His face had grown cracked and dry after the years in Olathe, but remained generally pleasing to look at. Bright blue eyes looked over Buddy. They reminded her of Brad’s little blue spheres. Full lips formed into a smile as he noticed Buddy, able to read her reactions much better than the others.

“Something on your mind, little lady?” Rick asked, taking a swig of his drink.

If there was anyone to ask, it was him. “What’s it like outside?”

Rick quickly frowned and looked away. Unlike the others, he wore his emotions on his sleeves. “Buddy, you know Brad doesn’t like it when we talk about that.”

“ ** _Buddy_**!”

The scream blasted her skin, pulled at her ribcage. But she shook her head. “Fuck Brad!” she shouted, the curse word tingling on her lips. She could have shouted it louder, but truth be told, she was afraid Brad might somehow have heard.

It had the desired effect on Rick, anyway. “Buddy!” the man’s eyes didn’t anger, merely sadden. He took it so personally. “Don’t say things like that about your fa-- --- about Brad.”

“I don’t care!”

Rick took another swig of his beer before leaving it. With a sigh, he sat down close next to Buddy, his sweat stained skin feeling like the jerky she ate so much of. Rick was no stranger to physical contact, but he never overstepped his bounds. At times, Brad would glare his way, but Rick would always wave off his concerns.

Rick placed a hand gently on her head, his dirt encrusted hands slowly petting her even dirtier hair. It felt nice. “If I tell you about the outside, will you stop saying those bad words?”

Buddy still wanted to hold onto that anger. Wanted to break free of everyone’s control. “But I hear you guys say it all the time!” Her words came out more as a whine, not really what she wanted.

“Those are grownup words. Only bad children say them, especially about their elders,” he said, still petting, stealing her anger away with each stroke. “Now, do we have a deal or not?”

“Fine,” she huffed. Maybe she couldn’t stay angry, but she got something she wanted at least. “Deal.”

“All right,” Rick sighed, not quite wanting to go through with it. “The outside is pretty bad. Horrible. The sun is always out, the other men down the cliff can be cruel, there’s mountains _everywhere_ now, there’s almost no trees…”

Buddy had already forgotten she was ever angry. “But what?”

Like Brad, and like her other uncles, Rick’s light blue eyes drifted to a strange world. “I don’t think it’s as bad as before.” His vision returned. “At least… at least for me. I don’t think it’s so bad.”

Buddy didn’t expect that. All her life she was told how the outside was hell. Her heart pounded in excitement. “Really?”

“Ah, Buddy, don’t get me wrong!” Rick sighed, conflicted. “It’s still terrible out there! There’s even been rumors going around lately that monsters are starting to appear.”

“Monsters?”

“Shi—shoot,” Rick coughed. “Well there’s not many. They’re really far away. They’ll never get us, Buddy, don’t worry.”

“I’m not scared,” Buddy said with conviction in her small voice. What was a monster to her? The things she feared most were at home.

Rick appeared surprised by her reaction. “I keep forgetting how tough you are.” He resumed. “Anyway, there’s less and less people out there every day. Barely any kids, like you.”

“But, I could fix that, couldn’t I?”

Rick’s hand froze. “Uh, Buddy? How would you know about that?”

“You guys talk so loud!” Buddy groaned. “I’ve heard you guys talking about it before, what else am I gonna do?”

His hand resumed, but slowly. “That’s a talk for another time, then.” Rick looked at her, blue eyes stern for once. Before he continued his description of the world he said, “Don’t bring that up around Brad, Buddy.”

* * *

“Hey, wake up. We’re going outside today.”

The mask Brad had made for her was fascinating; a stark white oval, surrounded by a hem of black. The holes for her eyes and mouth were just that, holes that gouged deep into the white, eyes wide open, and mouth always open in a silent scream. It was the face of a ghost.

Couldn’t ghosts go anywhere they wanted?

When she wore it, it was as stifling as her room. Brad had crafted it outside of their home, so the dust was embedded into the cloth. She breathed, and she could smell the earth of Olathe – dry and scorching her nostrils, her throat.

Brad fitted it over her head, his large hands deftly burying her hair underneath the hem. Once they went outside, she could feel the sun beat down on her. It made it so much hotter. If it weren’t for the openings in her mask, she’d have struggled to even wheeze or cough.

The mask limited her vision as well, but from what she could see, it reminded her of when she had left the house that day. The twisted crags, the bland hills, and the muddy terrain that stretched out before her feet – contrasting so sharply with the acidic sky and its strangely shaped clouds.

Still, there was the wind, and though it brought more dust to her, the air was not so stale. She took in what she could as Brad held her hand.

“I know a good spot,” he told her, and pulled her along.

She wanted to go and run off to the side, to climb up those hills and see the people Sticky had told her about, and the monsters that Rick had warned her of. Anything besides the same repeating image of her walls, of her fake drawings, and of Brad’s silent face as he would take those little blue pills…

“Here,” he said, and let go of her hand.

A careful turn of her head searched their surroundings. Still there were the cliffs overhead, crumbling and dry, and the bare plains. But here, right here, there were little sprouts. Offshoots of flowers, immersed within a reddish earth. Some of them drooped, some of them were outright dead, and yet still some were alive. White petals that were brighter than the rest of the world, through what little she’d seen. Brad was a few steps ahead of her, turned away.

She could run if she wanted.

She was fast, faster than Brad. If she really tried, she could make for the cliffs to the right and try to find a cave. He wouldn’t expect it, not if she hoofed it. Wouldn’t it be better if she did anyway? He was probably bringing her out here to train again. With each passing moment, she expected to hear the whimpering of another frightened man. She already began to feel around her waist for her knife, to recognize the hilt against her palm.

“Buddy.”

She flinched.

The dry wind that hit her fragile skin, the rough hands over her, pulling her back, burying her back into the room, dug beneath the earth, with no window to see the sky except for her stupid drawings.

Brad was seated on the ground. He didn’t talk right away. Instead he visibly pondered over things, hunched over in his position.

“Not many people know about this place. Not even your uncles.” He took one of the flowers, its petals bright. He held it close. “But keep your mask on.”

Buddy didn’t know what to say to that, so instead she sat down across from him. She did so despite her rapid heartbeat. “Why?”

His head stayed bowed, studying that same flower. “Not taking chances. It’s safer this way.”

“No, I mean-” Her words were too muffled by the thing. She adjusted the mask so that her mouth was level with the opening. She’d have to get used to it. _(She would never get used to it)._  Another little cell for her, but one she would carry around instead of waking up to each day.

Yet she was careful not to damage the white plaster that made up the face. “Why Buddy?”

Brad was speechless.

“Why… did you name me Buddy?”

She was patient. The sun continued shining down on her, making her the mask’s hem stick to her skin from sweat. The light reflected so brightly from Brad’s bald spot.

“I told you this before though.”

“I know.” She shifted, folding her legs underneath her. Her voice now came out in echoes, warbled and ephemeral. She spoke from a far-off place. “Can you tell me again?”

He used to take her outside more often, back when she was younger, back when he had a bunch of hair. But he never took much care for it, and it all fell away.

Brad’s beard was rough and messy, and his clothes were stained here and there. He was a mess, but when he handled that flower between his dirt-stained fingers, it was with a gentleness she could almost identify. From when she would hand him her drawings, or give her a ride on his shoulders around the house. When she was younger.

“Well…” Brad looked down. He made a huff, but his voice was lighter. Happier? “It was the best I could come up with… Brad and Buddy. Sounds good to me.”

If she kept remembering him with all that hair, she could relax. At least, for a little while.

* * *

Cheeks was weird.

Even if it the heat sweltered and the sun never fell, no one could manage to out sweat him. His namesake cheeks stained pink and swollen, he often daydreamed and was easily surprised when disturbed. Buddy didn’t know much about him, and Cheeks didn’t seem to care much to speak to her, or even look at her. Sometimes, Buddy would catch him staring, but if she returned the gaze, he quickly looked away, flustered.

Nothing in their home could be hidden from Buddy. Nothing. Her entire world was this tiny little shack of dirt and clay. The only way to stay sane was to go on adventures through the little cracks and crevices of the furniture. She would pretend her finger was a smaller version of herself, traversing through dark and dusty caves behind the rickety old dresser or the cracked plaster in the walls that looked like spider webs. Occasionally, her finger adventure would lead her to such a spider monster. She felt no fear, only a rush of adrenaline as she smashed the disgusting creature with ease.

One day, her imaginary spelunking brought her to a great treasure. A new treasure she had never seen before! Hidden so far back in the home, in a crack no one but her could ever notice. Her heart pounded and she pulled out the small mass of papers.

How strange. It appeared to be a magazine, but there was a man on it with large lumps of fat on his chest. He had no beard either, and long luxurious hair. This must be what men looked like before the world turned to what Buddy had always known.

She flipped the pages, noting their strange stickiness, and how the paper itself felt worn down and ripped after years of use. All sorts of different men were pictured on the pages, but without any clothes. They looked so odd with their fat round chests. Maybe they were the mutant monsters Rick talked about before?

Stranger still, more than a few of the men had clumps of hair between their legs. It fascinated Buddy. Were there any of these men outside, maybe? Or… could these be girls? Buddy shook her head. They were nothing like her, they must have been men.

“Uuh… Buddy?” A stuttered voice asked behind her. “You’re not looking at… oh my god.” In a blur of sweat, Cheeks ripped the magazine out of Buddy’s hand, a page falling apart and gone to pieces. He cursed at that.

“I was looking at that!” Buddy cried, finally finding a moment of brief respite from the usual mundane of her prison. She found it rightfully on her adventure! It was hers!

“Oh god, you uh…” Cheeks never found the way to speak to her. Buddy frowned. She’d heard him speak to the others just fine, she shouldn’t be any different. “You shouldn’t look at these! These are uh… Uncle Chee—I mean, Uncle Rick’s books.”

“Why?” Buddy asked, eyeing over the ripped magazine, gazing at the strange pink nipple in her hand.

Cheeks let out a strange little squeal, stealing the nipple away from her. “It’s for, uh, grownups only!”

Buddy still didn’t understand. Cheeks was trying to protect her from something, but Buddy wasn’t afraid. “Are those the mutants?”

“God, no!”

Buddy couldn’t help but be curious. “Is that what men used to look like?”

Cheeks stared at the girl now, his cheeks finally losing that pink sweaty hue to them. He looked sad. “Jesus, you, uh, you really don’t know? Has Brad never told you?”

Based on his reaction, Buddy assumed she was right. She nodded, feeling proud of herself. “He never told me, but I must be right, huh?”

Sweat droplets washed over the man again. He looked like he was cooking underneath all that heat. “Buddy… those are women.” He wouldn’t tell her any more than that.

* * *

Sticky was weird, too, but Buddy felt comfortable around him. He reminded her of Brad, but less stern, and not nearly as strong. She wasn’t afraid of Sticky like she was of Brad sometimes. When Sticky watched over her, Buddy felt she should protect him instead of the other way around. If she were to run away during his watch, what would happen to him? Someone could hurt him. Brad could hurt him.

“Hey fucko!!” A loud voice boomed outside their home. “Fucko!! You!! Yeah!!” Buddy was sure there was no way the man outside could even see anyone inside. Rick, Cheeks, and Brad were out scavenging for food and other supplies.

Sticky’s roaming fingers finally tensed up as he jumped to his feet. “Buddy, go to your room,” he ordered before running to the doorway.

She didn’t listen. He might need her help. Instead, Buddy crawled silently behind the door frame. She felt the smooth steel of her knife hidden in her poncho. It cooled her skin. Tiny fingers gripped the hilt firmly, ready to strike.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Sticky said back to the voice calmly.

“Well!! Fucko!! You got trouble!!” The other man sounded drunk. “Whatcha got in there, huh!?”

Sticky’s tone remained stoic, but strained with anger. “Nothing of importance.”

“That’s a lie!!” The voice paused, forgetting something. “Fucko!!” He wasn’t going to leave peacefully. Buddy held the knife in front of her now, her little body pounding with adrenaline. “Gimme all your food and mags or I’ll kill you, fucko!!”

Buddy spoke barely above a whisper. “Let him in, Uncle Sticky.”

Sticky turned his head to her for a split second, saw the knife, and cursed. He shook his head, trying to regain his composure. “You’ll get nothing from me. I suggest you leave.”

Brad’s voice invaded her mind. _He’s seen too much. He can’t leave._

“Uncle Sticky… He has to die.”

Her uncle clenched his fists, but did not look at her this time.

“I ain’t leavin till I get my shit, fucko!!” The voice roared. “You’re fucked!” She heard footsteps barreling towards the home. Still Sticky stood in the doorway.

“Uncle Sticky! Let him in! I’ll get him!”

Sticky cursed again, ignoring Buddy. Why wouldn’t he listen!? He’ll get hurt! With a grunt, Sticky ran out the doorway, picking something up near the entrance.

The man grew closer. As he approached he screamed, “Watch out for my Super-Fucko-Slam-Du--”

Several loud booms screeched out through the burning heat. Again, her mind immediately jumped to that shout, but Buddy shook it off. A meaty thud splattered onto the dirt outside. The man was silent. No more footsteps, no more screaming. It was a familiar silence.

* * *

“ _Buddy_.”

It still shook her. But she braced against it. She wasn’t scared of anything. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t.

“Get your mask,” Brad said, his silhouette still in the darkness of Buddy’s room. “We’re going out again.” He paused. “If you want.”

Her heart pounded. Her mind raced. “Yes! I want to!” She heard Brad try to suppress a sigh. Buddy leaped out of her itchy bed and grabbed the ghostly mask. She had no problems putting it on anymore. She practiced wearing it when no one else was around. It was hot, it made her sweat, but it didn’t matter. She could breathe with it on, and she could go out with it.

Buddy ran to Brad, clasping her tiny hand around Brad’s giant ones. He flinched at first, but relaxed soon after. He held her tight, but made sure it wouldn’t hurt.

“Some ground rules, Buddy,” Brad said sternly. “No talking. Not a peep. Understand?”

Buddy didn’t need to talk. She’d prove it to Brad. She nodded silently.

“You can try running away, again,” he growled lightly. “But if you do, I will never take you outside again. Understand?”

She was ready to pout, but thought against it. She could run, she could escape Brad. But what if he caught her? What would happen to Sticky, Rick, and Cheeks? Maybe Sticky would be okay, but she wasn’t sure about the others.

Buddy nodded again, looking up at Brad. She noticed the flower they had picked still stuck to his poncho. It was dead and wilted now, but Brad didn’t mind.

“You have your knife?”

Another nod. _Of course I have my knife!_ She felt the coolness of it against her back. She felt safe with it.

Brad’s hand began to sweat. He seemed reluctant. “All right, let’s go.”

Buddy could hardly contain her excitement, but she knew better. She’d prove to Brad she was ready to leave. Maybe if she was really good, he’d let her leave on her own one day!

The two of them stepped out into the blazing heat. It burned, but she didn’t care. The sky was disgusting as always, but it was beautiful to her. The mountains in the distance looked like giant swords impaled into the earth’s dry and bloodied corpse. Her eyes darted every which way. Brad’s hand tightened slightly. It didn’t hurt.

“Climb on my shoulders for now, Buddy,” Brad said as they approached the cliff’s end. A rope dangled down far, connecting the cliff to another set of cracked and dead cliffs.

 _I can climb down myself,_ she thought. Best not to disobey, though. With a quick hop, she landed on his shoulders, feeling Brad’s hot and sweaty bald head between her legs. The sun’s reflection nearly blinded her. Still, she held on, feeling a small excitement. On his shoulders, Buddy felt bigger. Stronger. She could see farther. She had the power now. She could kill him.

“Hold on,” Brad said, ignoring her thoughts. He slid down the rope quickly, hands burning red the whole way. The wind felt nice.

As Brad continued to climb down the cliffside, Buddy felt more and more at ease, enthralled by the world around her. One day she’d be as big as Brad! She’d see the world the same way he did. She’d loom over everyone else. It was intoxicating. She didn’t want to leave.

“All right, come on down,” Brad said gently, pulling her off his shoulders. It was impossible to read his face, but Buddy could tell he was happy. His bloodied hand clasped around hers again as they stepped into the cave’s mouth. He didn’t notice the blood. “Stay close.”

In an instant a wave of cold, damp air washed against her body. It reminded her of home, but it was bigger. More open. Safe even. Stalagmites and stalactites littered the cave like rusty needles. Buddy thought to herself _I could push people onto those and kill them, or cut one off and smash their skulls._ She nodded. Dad would be proud. She already had plans to kill any would-be attackers. If only she could speak and tell him.

Darkness wrapped around the pair, but small candles dotted the cave, their flames licking the air, devouring the darkness away for a time. Buddy noted a few men standing around the cave, staring at Brad and Buddy. Her free hand tensed, ready to grip the dagger at a moment’s notice. It smelled of piss. These men were disgusting.

As they went deeper into the cave, more stench entered her nostrils. Pictures of topless women stuck to the rocky cave surface, smelly white paint stained the areas around them. Their ‘breasts’ were huge, and seemed to be malformed. Sticky told her of them. Clearly these breasts held power over the men. She hoped to use it to her advantage one day.

A tiny hole brimming with sunlight appeared before them. This was clearly the exit. Scraps of cloth and blood painted the ground beneath it, probably men struggling to get through as quickly as possible. Buddy loosened her grip around Brad’s hand as she made for the hole.

Brad tightened it, pinching her skin just slightly. He shook his head. Buddy knew better than to fight him on this. Keeping a tight grip on his rough hands, she easily crouched under the hole and into the outside world again. She looked back, seeing Brad’s arm sticking out of the cave hole like a dirty chain. Without any shred of knowledge to how funny it looked, Brad squeezed his bald head and fat body out of the hole with a bit of a struggle. Buddy suppressed a giggle.

“Remember what I said. Keep quiet,” Brad reminded her, holding her hand a little too tightly now. She could deal with the pain. It was okay.

Father and daughter found themselves at a small hub of men. Little caves and holes leading in every direction littered the area, as well as stinky muscular guys. She had never seen so many people in her entire life! She tried counting but lost her place after ten.

They were all so strange compared to Brad and her uncles. Some men sat in corners by themselves, little blue balls dropped around their forms, their eyes staring into nothing, but a bright smile on their faces. Some men sat at rickety old wooden tables, drinking and sobbing quietly to themselves under the sun. Everyone appeared to have something to do.

One strange man stood upon a mountain, his mouth blowing into a rusty yellowed metal thing. It played interesting noises in her ears, tooting notes seemingly at random. This must be what music sounded like. Her uncles would attempt a song every so often, their voices raspy and out of sync. But she loved it. Maybe one day she could play music too.

“Hey, buddy,” a man called out, bumbling over to Brad. The voice had a muffled quality to it. Buddy instinctively turned towards the sound.

The man towered over Brad, his muscles rippled under the sun. But Buddy’s attention was fixed firmly on his head. It was a shark’s head, to be specific. One that rotted underneath the heat, its semi-translucent skin sliming right off whatever cartilage was left. Black eyes, as glassy as polished obsidian, stared over both Brad and Buddy’s heads. One was dangling down the side, threatening to fall off the shark like sludge. But even through the decay, various rows of sharp, pointed teeth still curved out of its nearly closed mouth like a pit of giant needles. If Buddy could shift a bit to the side, she could just make out the fin that jutted out from the back.

A muscled arm reached up to grasp the shark’s snout, pulling it up. The rows of teeth opened like a knight’s visor, revealing a normal, but angry looking man inside the shark’s mouth.

“You got a little shit stuck to you.” He smirked. “This your midget lover?”

Brad never once flinched. He revealed nothing. “This is my son.”

Bloodshot eyes scanned over Buddy, followed by a tight grin and the lick of his lips. She wasn’t scared of him. Or of sharks. Rick had shown her those in a book once- just oversized fish with big teeth.

“Scrawny little shit, isn’t he?” spoke the shark-man. Buddy followed Brad’s example. She made no motion, no sound.

“Yes,” Brad agreed tonelessly.

The shark-man frowned, annoyed. _He wanted to fight us,_ Buddy concluded.

With a grunt, he left the two of them, headbutting a random passerby as he did so with his shark helmet, bloodying their nose.

“What the FUCK?”

The tall angry shark-man took his chance to feel justified. He brandished a knife – its blade bone-white, looking just like one of those sharp, curved teeth – and struck it deep into the other man’s stomach. The innocent man howled and writhed in pain, his life blood oozing out in spurts. The shark-man laughed, kicking him like a fallen piñata. The fin of his shark head bobbed with the motion.

Buddy stared. _He should have stabbed the other guy in the throat. That would have killed him._ She realized she could kill the angry man herself with ease if he was that sloppy.

Brad glanced over at Buddy. Probably expecting to find fear or disgust. She showed neither. He must have felt proud of her.

None of the other men helped. They looked on, but kept to themselves. Brad decided it was best to move on as well. Intervening would just bring trouble. The screams died down as they always did.

* * *

“God damn, your ugly fucking mug again?”

Brad took them to a literal hole in the wall of a mountain. Above the entrance read “Shopp” in barely legible words. Even Buddy knew how to spell shop correctly.

The shop owner inside cursed again, throwing a hefty grease filled box into a corner of the cave. His bare chest revealed a scarred and muscled body. The owner was missing a leg, and had replaced it with an old hockey stick that could barely support his weight. The wood shaft stabbed itself into his flesh, leaving bloodied splinters around his thigh, but the owner kept it there, probably as a sign to show how tough or dangerous he was. Buddy understood the importance of looks.

“And you bringing in some little shit with you, too.” The owner barely spared buddy a glance. “You think I’ll feel guilty about slicing that thick neck of yours in front of your boy? I don’t give a shit, dumb fuck.”

An old harpoon gleamed dangerously behind the counter. He made sure they could see it. Brad must have seen it plenty of times. He wasn’t fazed. “I need a box of jerky and a case of beer.”

“Fucking Christ. All that going to your fat ass?” The owner screeched. “One-hundred mags.”

“Fifty,” Brad said tonelessly.

A vein popped in the owner’s forehead. His hockey stick creaked and he stood on it a little too hard. “You fucking serious?! You really want to get yourself killed this time, don’t you? Ninety mags, fucker, and you count yourself lucky I don’t fuck you up.”

Buddy sensed a real threat behind this man’s words. His eyes nearly popped out of his skill, his breath came out ragged and feral, dribbles of spit running down his chin. She gripped the knife. He didn’t notice her at all.

“Fifty,” Brad repeated.

“You fucking piece of shit,” the owner slurred, spittle hitting Brad’s emotionless face. “I’ll sell to you for eighty. You say fifty one more time, and I’ll fucking end you.” Buddy pulled the knife out of her pants, holding it at her side beneath the poncho.

“Fifty or nothing.”

The harpoon’s tip flashed in the shopkeeper’s hand. “I fucking warned you, shithead!” His words spewed out of him like rage-filled vomit. “I fucking warned you not to fuck with me! You fucking-” He threw his harpoon forward.

The shop keeper gurgled his next words. Blood spewed from his neck. He was surprised. Didn’t seem to even know what hit him. He tried to scream in anger, reaching out to pull the piece of metal from his flesh. Buddy removed her weapon and he fell limply to the ground, his hockey stick convulsing silently along with him.

“Buddy?!” Brad gasped, harpoon stuck in the cave’s wall near his face. The wall was dotted with piercings, with only the space behind Brad’s head free of such marks.

She looked up at Brad, smiling brightly behind her mask. _I protected him! I showed him how strong I am! Now we can take it all for free, too!_

“Why did…” he started to say. He shook his head and grabbed a greasy box of jerky, stuffing a pile of extra magazines under his poncho. “Carry that beer, we’re going home. Now.”

She complied, holding the warm drinks with ease. It was the smart thing to do. Best not to attract any attention. Box over his shoulder, Brad still held Buddy’s hand, and they moved briskly back towards home. She noticed how her other hand felt hot and sticky. A quick glance down showed her the shopkeeper’s blood on her fingers.

As they walked, Buddy witnessed the angry shark-man from before. He lay unmoving in the middle of the road, a hole through his head. His encompassing shark helmet lay deflated around him, like a puddle of gray ooze. Underneath him was the man he attacked, bloodied, possibly dead, gun in hand. _That’s what happens_ , she thought.

With little time to sightsee, Buddy hurried her little legs through the cave hole, Brad squeezing through quickly. No one would suspect a thing. Soon they were out of the cave and climbing back up the cliffs. Brad threw her up on his opposite shoulder again, climbing up the ropes and steep rocks with a single arm as if it were an easy feat.

When they reached home, Buddy expected a warm reception from Brad. Instead, he rushed her down to Buddy’s prison, shoving her inside once again. Buddy’s heart sank.

“No more going outside,” Brad said into the darkness, his voice low and strange.

Tears began to well up, but she refused to cry. She wouldn’t cry! “Why?! Didn’t I do the right thing? I did it just like you taught me!”

Brad’s face hid in the darkness well. He stared at her silently. Without a word, he climbed up out of her room and shut the hatch tight. A sob escaped her mouth. Her vision began to blur. She didn’t understand! She didn’t understand at all! She just wanted to prove she was strong, that she could protect herself! Isn’t that what Brad wanted? Why?!

“Brad, what’s going on?”

Her uncles forced the floorboards to creak. Brad spoke. “Nothing. Go to the usual shopkeeper’s place. Take everything you can. Quickly.”

“What? Brad, are you okay?”

“Just go,” he grunted, floorboards heaving as he left the building.

“What the fuck.”

“Shh, Buddy will hear.”

“Let’s just get the stuff while we can then.”

* * *

Hours went by. Maybe days. Maybe it was minutes. The silence deafened her. There was nobody upstairs. There was nothing but dark stale air. She wiped the tears from her eyes, kicking the mask away. It still stared at her, the surface splattered with red. She didn’t understand.

Suddenly the floorboards creaked. Her uncles were home. They grunted, hefting heavy boxes of goods onto the ground. The three talked amongst themselves.

“Brad’s not even here,” Rick said solemnly.

“Should we go find him?” Cheeks asked.

“Yeah. You two go on ahead. He’ll probably be in the same spot. Let me put some of this stuff away.”

Rick sighed. “All right. Make sure you meet up with us, Sticky. You’re probably the only one that can talk him out of whatever this is.”

“I will.”

The wood creaked again as the two left. Buddy heard the latch unlock and watched as Sticky slowly climbed down into her room. She didn’t say anything. She knew she’d sound like she was crying if she did. She wasn’t crying. She wouldn’t cry. She could control herself.

“Hey Buddy,” Sticky whispered, as if somehow, he’d disturb her. He knew she wasn’t sleeping. “I’m just gonna rest down here. That okay?”

She nodded, trying to force the lump in her throat down. Her uncle took his usual position, laying down on his side near the bed. Even in the dark, she could tell he still fiddled with his rags.

Time passed. Again, she didn’t know how much. She never knew how much. She barely knew anything. But her sniffles and sobs began to vanish.

“Buddy,” Sticky started, keeping his eyes forward, away from her. “Did you kill that shopkeeper?”

Once she was sure it wouldn’t come out as a sob, Buddy replied, “Yes.”

“Shit,” Sticky breathed. “He was a tough son of a bitch, too.” He paused, seemingly afraid to ask his next question. “Did you like it? Killing him, I mean.”

“No,” Buddy answered honestly. She didn’t feel anything after killing him. He was a threat. Brad taught her to kill threats. The first time she killed someone during Brad’s training, she cried. And cried. And cried. She didn’t want to kill then. But she learned she had to. It was the only way to survive. She wouldn’t cry anymore, though. Big girls don’t cry.

Sticky let out a sigh. He sat up and looked her in the eyes, trying to keep his fingers still. “Buddy, I want you to think carefully about what I’m going to ask you next, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Do you really want to leave?”

Her mind reeled. Of course she wanted to leave! She wanted to see the world, she wanted to be free of this dark hole. Still, she asked, “What about you and Rick and Cheeks?”

“We’d be fine. I won’t lie, though. We’d miss you, kid.”

A dark form loomed over her. Crying. Clutching at her hand, clutching her head. Squeezing her. Suffocating her. “What about Brad?”

Sticky went silent at that. After a few moments he said, “He’d be sad. Very sad. But I think he’d be okay with it eventually. As long as he knew you were safe.”

“What if he found out you guys helped me leave?”

“We’ve known Brad our whole lives. He would never hurt us.”  

She needed to breathe. She had needed to breathe her whole life. “I want to leave.”

Her uncle nodded, thinking hard. “All right, Buddy. I’ll see what I can do.”

She heard the soft rustling of fabric between his fingers, imagining it wrinkled to oblivion. Hands always moving, but his face still. Then he sighed.

“After all, you’ll be a big girl soon.”

* * *

It wasn’t always so bad before.

Even in this constricting darkness, Buddy remembered times that her prison didn’t feel quite so terrible. It might have even resembled a home. It could have just been a dream, it felt so distant. After Sticky left, she replayed the memory in her head.

_..._

Brad had sat opposite of her, his usual eyes shadowed and stoic. She saw a glimmer of joy in them for once. Maybe with a bit of help, he could look less grumpy. After a long day, scavenging for supplies, Rick brought home the usual jerky and beer, but this time he found something extra. Something for Buddy. But she couldn’t use it on her own.

Buddy gently colored a blue hue under Brad’s tired old eyes. Her uncles called it makeup, but they didn’t know any details other than that. Girls were supposed to like it, they said. It was meant to make them pretty. Buddy didn’t care much for that, but she did love coloring.

Brad accepted to be her experimental canvas. He sat perfectly still, like those big lumpy mountains outside. Even when Buddy colored dangerously close to his eye, Brad never flinched, seemingly at peace. He trusted her.

Sunlight streamed through the hatch to her room, dusty sand glimmering in the air like a misty waterfall. Buddy noted how big and empty Brad’s bald head was. Maybe makeup wasn’t meant for this kind of thing, but she felt he needed more. Using a bright red waxy-like crayon, Buddy drew a heart on his shiny scalp. Not like the real hearts. She knew this wasn’t what a real heart looked like. Knew too well.

She liked this cartoon heart. She wasn’t sure why. It made her chest swell up with a strange happiness, made the harsh world around her feel lighter. As if possessed, Buddy’s lips formed a smile. Even stranger still, Brad was smiling, too. She almost never saw him smile, but she loved it all the same.

“Buddy,” Brad said softly, remaining perfectly still, worried somehow that a movement might ruin and crumble all of this.

“Hm?” she replied, coloring in the heart on his head, focused.

He stayed silent for a while. He smiled still, but it was heavy. “You know I just want what’s best for you, right?”

Buddy didn’t want to mess up. She wanted it to be perfect. “I guess so,” she said absentmindedly.

For a moment, his eyes found hers. He looked away quickly, almost afraid. “I love you, Buddy.”

She couldn’t mess this up. She made sure to color in the lines, made sure to make it known it was a heart. Maybe Brad wouldn’t see it, but her uncles would. She wanted to make them proud. “Love you, too,” she said, still focused on her work.

It came so naturally to her, then. She wouldn’t know what it meant until later. Much later. Even then, she still never really understood.

Satisfied, Buddy stood back to appreciate her art. “Finished!” She smiled.

Brad got up and stared at his daughter. There were no mirrors, but still, he looked proud. He smiled back. “It’s great.”

Buddy frowned. “You can’t even see it!”

A lightbulb went off over his shiny head. His usual sluggishness gone, Brad shimmied up the hatch and out of her room. Buddy’s heart sank instantly. The walls already started closing in on her.

“Hey, guys,” Brad said outside, loud enough that even Buddy could hear. “Check me out.”

Silence. No one said anything for a while. Did they hate it?

“Wow, Brad…” Rick started.

“You look pretty,” Cheeks laughed. “Pretty funny!” Rick and Sticky laughed along with him. They did hate it, didn’t they?

“You think Buddy would give all of us a makeover too?” Sticky asked.

“Oh, that would be great!” Rick added, a real excitement in his tone.

“I wanna be dolled up all nice, too!” Cheeks said.

Brad didn’t hesitate. “Sure, let’s have Buddy give us all a makeover.”

Before she knew it, Buddy was surrounded by her family, each one smiling at her, a tender care that warmed her own fleshy little heart. Brad stood at the center of it all, his dark eyes lit up by blue.

 


End file.
